


Get Down, Make Love: A Brian May Oneshot

by sweet_ladyy



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: 1970s Queen, F/M, Get Down Make Love makes everyone horny, Kitchen Counter Sex, Smut, hnnng, honestly really rough sex, lots of smut, seventies Queen, slightly dom!Brian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 02:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16924518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweet_ladyy/pseuds/sweet_ladyy
Summary: Brian May comes home after a long day of recording Queen's latest new song, only to find you there waiting for him. Turns out the new song has put Brian into a very...frustrated mood.OrInspired by this prompt from @bloodbubblegum on tumblr: "uhh h ok so im charlie and i’m Very Interested in some smutty thing with brian, something like he just left the studio after recording a song with very sexy lyrics/melody (im thinking “get down, make love” bc yeah)"





	Get Down, Make Love: A Brian May Oneshot

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted from my Tumblr, @sweet-ladyy, as a part of a Queen fanfiction writing challenge. I modified the name (originally Charlie) on here to suit any reader. Please enjoy~~~

♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛

_Brian won’t be expecting me to be home,_  you think.

Today is supposed to be one of those long recording session days, and the band isn’t due to finish raw takes of their latest song until later tonight. But you had nothing else going on, really, so an afternoon lounging around your man’s house taking baths in his bathtub and drinking his wine didn’t sound too bad to you.

Besides, Brian gave you a key to his estate weeks ago. That seemed like an open invitation.

You’re in Brian’s bathrobe, curled up in front of a roaring fireplace reading your favorite book. It’s around nine-thirty in the evening. Brian’s house seems eerily still without him here, but you don’t mind it. His common room is quaint and so very Brian-y. There’s a special wall dedicated to high-quality images of galaxies and nebulas taken from his telescope, and a pile of balled-up papers containing discarded song lyrics by the love seat.

You wonder what lyrics they’d been, but your subconscious mind tells you not to peek.

The tread of a car’s tires pulling up to the driveway and the subsequent jingling of keys fills your ears. You sit up a little straighter, feeling warm from the wine you enjoyed earlier — and, not to mention, from the prospect that Brian is home.

He must be exhausted from being cooped up indoors all day, and you have an idea to make him a cup of tea. You set your book down beside you and quietly pad your way into the kitchen. 

The front door creaks open and heavy footsteps come inside. The thud of his satchel hitting the floor. And then, a single word.

“Fuck.”

Curious, you peer around the corridor at him. Bri is slumped against the closed front door, his head tilted back to rest against it. His eyes are closed. You briefly wonder what must have gone wrong at the studio to elicit such a dejected, exhausted reaction…

…but that’s when you see his hand slowly moving down his own hip and resting on the bulge of his cock. As if he just couldn’t wait.

_Ah hah._

You decide the worst thing you could do is startle him, so you quickly move out of eyeshot and reach for a mug, calling out quietly: “Bri? It’s just me.”

He takes a sharp inhale, but soon you see him peering around the kitchen corner. He’s dressed in casual clothing: a grey-and-black ringer tee under a long-sleeved white shirt and black vest. He’s wearing his favorite necklace. His dark hair looks particularly disheveled today, just the way you like it. His dark eyes take on a thousand different emotions, from surprised to exhausted to…something hungrier. 

“[Y/N]? What are you doing here?” he says.

“Oh, I was just bored all day,” you drawl in response, “and I wanted to wait for you to get home. Also, I drank half of your pinot noir and took a bubble bath… I hope you don’t mind.”

Instead of laughing that lighthearted chuckle of his, he just looks at you. But not in an unpleasant way. Quite the opposite, actually. His eyes rake over you down and up as if he were drinking you in. 

“That is okay, isn’t it…?” you ask hesitantly.

He breathes out another heavy exhale. “Christ, love…” he says. “You have no idea.”

In two long and sure strides, he’s across the kitchen and before you. His hands are on your sides like magnets, and he’s still looking at you in that  _way._ And that’s all he does for quite some time, just holding you out at arm’s length and taking you in. Like you’re the best Christmas gift he’s ever gotten. And then he’s kissing you, his lips soft yet demanding, his tongue tracing the edge of your top teeth.

You suddenly feel drunk again, even though it has been an hour since your last sip of wine.

“Hard day at the studio?” you ask when he breaks away.

He draws in closer to you, pressing your body against his. “I hope you intended that pun,” he growled, just as you felt the warm press of his groin against your stomach.

“Oh,” was all you could say, truly.

 “We were recording this new song,” Brian continues, brushing your hair from your face and letting his long fingers linger at the soft skin of your neck.

“What was it?” you ask. His thumb finds your lower lip, dragging it down.

“Well, Fred had this new idea,” he starts slowly, allowing the hand on your face to travel down to that sensitive place between your collarbones. “He wanted a few raw takes today.”

His hands travel down to your chest, caressing your breasts in a way that makes you lose your train of thought. “Hmm, really?” is all you manage. 

“God, you have no idea how glad I am that you’re here,” Brian murmurs. He pulls you in close and whispers in your ear. “I’ve been thinking of you  _all day._ ”

“You have?” you said. “Not focusing on your new song?”

“That’s just the thing,” Brian groans, his groping hands growing more and more insistent. He gently pinches your hard nipples outside the silky fabric of the robe. “The song reminded me of you. Of us…”

“Did it?”

He makes a low sound, like a snarl, as he breathes in the scent of your still-wet hair. “The lyrics are… Well, they’re incredibly…”

“Incredibly what?”

“…sexy.”

“As sexy as ‘Fat Bottomed Girls’?”

“Sexier.”

In one swift motion, he’s lifted you up by the small of your waist and set you on the counter of the kitchen island. His lips have found their way to that sensitive spot between your collarbones, his hair tickling your nose. You sigh in response. He situates his torso between your spread legs, running his hands all the way down to the hem of your —  _his —_ robe and underneath. The calluses of his hands brush against the soft skin of your upper thigh.

His and your eyes lock again. You suddenly get the sense that he needs you.  _Right now._

And then he’s upon you, lips and hands racing, faster and faster, as if the most pressing matter in the world was to feel himself inside of you.

As your breaths grow more and more hitched, you match his urgency in your own fingertips. They crawl at his back, slipping to the hem of his shirt and vest to pull them over his head. The sight of his lean, milky chest calls a familiar pulling sensation at your groin. He seizes the robe wrapped around you and thrusts it open, revealing your breasts for him to lick and tease. Moans escape you now in a way they never had before.

You reach for the clasp of his pants, unfastening it and slipping your hand to the warmth of his erection.  _Goddamn,_ you think to yourself.  _This is fast._

“Ffffuck,” he gasps as his hand drops to the wetness of your groin. Your hips arch forward toward him. “You’re so wet, love.”

“You’re certainly just as turned on,” you whisper.

His finger finds its way inside of you, and the irresistible sensation of being filled brings a blossom of heat to your entire body. The meaty part of his warm palm is pressed up against your clit.

You feel flushed, vulnerable, high. You need more,  _more._

His finger leaves you, but he brings it up to his lips to taste your pleasure. Then his tongue is tracing a path down to your belly, down to the sensitive skin right beside your hip bones.

“Yes, lovely, moan for me,” he breathes.

You comply. 

“You want to know what the song is about, darling?” he says.

“Yes,” you say.

The bush of his dark hair obscures his stony face as he ducks to nibble at your inner thigh, closer and closer and unbearably closer to  _that place._ Your moans turn into whimpers as you bury your hands in his curls, urging him closer.

“Well, for starters, the song is called ‘Get Down, Make Love’,” he says with a smirk in his voice, just before he plants a warm, wet kiss right to the core of your desire.

_Fuck._

You fall back to your elbows on the kitchen counter, unable to hold yourself up any longer. Brian’s tongue parts your lips down below and laps you up slowly, sensually. He brings your legs up so they’re perched on his shoulders on either side of his head. Those warm hands grasp at your hips and your ass.

Colors whirl behind your closed eyes as a climax grows closer and closer. But sure enough, Brian breaks away just before you reach it, smirking at your prone figure on the counter.

“I’m — I’m close, Bri,” you moan. “I need you to — ahh, I need you…”

“Not so fast, baby,” he drawls, pulling his pants and knickers down and kicking them away. 

“Are those the lyrics from the song?” you joke, breathless.

He snickers and grasps his cock, positioning himself so that he’s right outside of you. “I’ll tell you what those lyrics are,” he says. His voice has a husky quality, like he’d been singing his heart out all day. You keen in delight as he teases you with the head of his cock.

But you and him both know that neither of you is in the mood for teasing right now. He grips your hips and thrusts himself inside of you.

_Holy fuck._  

There are days where Brian fucks you slow and grandly, days where he fucks you sleepily and sweetly, days where he fucks you drunkenly and goofily.

This is none of those days.

Brian’s thrusts are sure and fast, and you can feel him fill you up from the core out. The movement is demanding, urgent, and oh so  _deep_. The jarring shake of your curves each time he slams his body against yours makes you feel like you belong to him entirely _._ Uncontrollable shrieks of pleasure emit from your mouth, to your surprise. Brian moans and pants, completely overdriven by his urge.

He slows his pace momentarily to drop his head to your ear, nibbling your earlobe.  _“You take my body, I give you heat,”_  he growls. You cry out again with the next thrust of his cock.

Suddenly, he’s pulled himself out of you and seized your hips to pull your feet to the floor. Numb with pleasure, you let him guide you. He flips you around so you’re facing away from you, flopped over with your arms and torso on the counter. You nearly shriek when he slaps your ass, hard, before pulling your cheeks apart to push himself aside you again.

His voice emerges beside your ear once more.  _“You say you’re hungry, I give you meat.”_

He’s completely dominating you, his hands a hard presence pressing down on your head as he fucks you fast and hard. And you love every second of it, this rare side of Brian you soak up whenever he comes out.

_“I suck your mind, you blow my head.”_ He’s hitting that spot, that goddamn perfect spot inside of you that makes you forget your name.

He’s grasping your shoulders desperately, and your back arches. You’re all his,  _you’re all his._ “Bri, I’m close, I’m — ooh,  _ffffffuckkk, I’m gonna come.”_

And you know he’s close too, as his grunts grow louder and his breaths hotter. “Come for me, darling,” he spurs you on.

A white-hot explosion of finality fills your mind and your core. Brian’s cock pulses inside of you, and his moans invade every one of your thoughts. Your body seizes against his, an indescribable heat followed by utter limpness. Your screams die down to wild pants.

A few seconds of blissful stillness, and then Brian pulls himself out of you. A delightful warmth —yours? his? — leaks from you down your legs. 

You’re sore, so beautifully sore everywhere.

Your knees choose that moment to give out on you.

Brian catches you swiftly by the waist, chuckling. “Oh, dear. Look what I’ve done to you.” He pulls you upright and holds you up like dead weight. Seeing you’re useless on your own, he hoists you up once more and props you on the cool granite of the kitchen island.

Something about the idea of his seed on your thighs running onto the counter makes you feel giggly.

He chuckles with you for a moment, eyes scrutinizing your naked form. “How was that?” he asks, almost hesitantly.

“Can you…fuck me like that…more often…?” is all you could make out.

Brian chuckles again, the sound like bells to your ears. “Your wish is my command. Let me go get you another warm bath started.”

♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛


End file.
